


Migraine

by Kokolo



Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: Brotherhood of Mutants, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Battle, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22722295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kokolo/pseuds/Kokolo
Summary: Post-battle Lance suffers from a particularly nasty migraine.
Relationships: Lance Alvers/Pietro Maximoff
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	Migraine

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on my Tumblr](https://whattheficery.tumblr.com/post/130008625099/fic-migraine) September 27, 2015.
> 
> Edited by the ever lovely Mugsandpugs <3

Lance staggered up the steps, leaving the rest of the Brotherhood to patch themselves up on their own. He pulled off his helmet and unzipped the top of his uniform, gripping the railing and walls and anything he could to stay upright. His head throbbed, pounding behind his eye so sharply he had to close it to focus enough to get into his room and shut the door, leaving pieces of his bulky battle suit outside his threshold. It was blissfully dark inside, and Lance shut both of his eyes, blindly feeling his way to the bed. He made it without tripping, slowly crawling onto the cooled sheets. He laid down on his side and clutched his head, trying to block out every last bit of light and noise. 

It was bad this time. Not the worst he’d ever had, but bad enough to lay him out for a while. He couldn’t even blame it on an X-Man - this was all his stupid fault. Upending the earth took a lot out of him. Usually he could hold his own in battle, but too much went down too quickly, and no one wanted to stand around to be caught in a fissure. He’d ripped up so much ground it had been difficult to retreat, and by the time Fred dragged him away the pulse in his skull felt like he’d taken a spike to the temple. The hadn’t even _won._

He wasn’t the only one who left the brightly-lit sections of the house in favor of some peaceful self-loathing. Someone invited themselves into Lance’s room without so much as a knock, and Lance turned reflexively. He could just make a bulky silhouette around the painful fuzz of light from the hall, and for a second he thought it was Fred checking on him. Suddenly the shadow shed its spare parts, clunking on the floor. The reflection of his discarded helmet pierced his eyes and Lance winced. Another wave of pain washed over the entirety of his skull, but he swallowed down the coppery ache in the back of his throat.

“What’s up, Pietro?”

“Don’t you ‘what’s up’ me.” He snapped. “What the hell is wrong with you? Driving us home when you’re messed up - Fred’s the stupid one, remember? You’re supposed to have some sense.”

“I’ve done it before-”

“Great. Perfect. Wonderful. Risk my life again and I’ll make sure you have an actual head injury. Neck brace and everything. You _dick.”_

Lance grimaced. Pietro’s rapidfire speech was had to deal with in everyday life. Now that Lance’s brain was trying to claw it’s way out of his eye socket, it was near impossible. He clutched his head and grit his teeth through another wave of pain. It blocked out some of Pietro’s angry rant, all of which he deserved. His temper got the better of him when he was injured, however, and he turned on the speedster with as much malice he could managed with an unfocused glare and clutching his head. 

“I’m sorry, okay? Fuck-” His apology came out harsher than he expected. “Sorry. Kick my ass later, please. I can’t right now.”

Pietro was quiet for the moment, and Lance seized that opportunity to sink back down into the darkened end of his bed. He loosened his grip on his head and unclenched his teeth and groaned, regretting his usual lack of forethought. Lance tried to listen for something other than the thudding heartbeats in his head. There wasn’t much - a rush of wind, the click of a door shutting, soft footfalls, an aggravated grunt, something clinking against his nightstand the whine of his bed springs. Lance looked over his shoulder and found Pietro at the end of his bed.

“All right dumbass.” Pietro said, patting his thigh. “Come on. Head here. I don’t have all day.”

Defeated and grateful, Lance crawled from the edge of his bed toward Pietro and his impatient sigh. He pillowed his head on the offered leg, face up, eyes shut. Pietro’s hands covered his eyes, cool fingers on his brow. Instantly Lance was feeling better, but Pietro’s placebo effect didn’t work in the long term. Luckily enough, Pietro had been around long enough to know the basic routine. 

“Symptoms?” He asked quietly. 

“Light hurts. Not so much the sound this time. Dizzy, tired, body aches. It’s mostly behind my eyes.”

“Nausea?”

“Not this time.”

“Mm.” Pietro hummed, doing his best impression of a doctor. “There’s a storm coming. Probably not helping your head. But neither is pushing yourself like that. Rocks for brains, I swear.”

Lance tried to smile, but it turned out more like a grimace. He soon gave up trying to show anything but the obvious pain. Pietro shrugged off the attempt to rebuff him and went to work. 

First was the blindfold, which was really the scraps of the last uniform Pietro had taken onto himself to alter, dipped in water and laid over Lance’s eyes. Much to his comfort it was blisteringly cold, which meant Pietro had either gotten the taps to agree with him for a change scraped off a hunk of ice from the freezer. 

Then came the much better part - cold, wet fingers sweeping over his face and neck, searching for pulse points or sinuses or some other magic medical term Lance couldn’t remember but Pietro knew too well. He found them effortlessly, pressing into knotted bunches of muscle, working them loose and easing the rampant pain in Lance’s head. It was never the same when he tried to self medicate, jabbing his thumb into where it hurt most with clumsy backwards circles, even when Pietro explained the process. Pietro slowed himself down for his sake, and Lance was enormously thankful. 

“l’ll run off to get some good stuff when you finally get to sleep.” Pietro told him, kneading near the base of his skull. “Tell the rest of them to keep quiet. I’ll even get you some bottled water, since you’re suffering.”

“You’re a godsend.” Lance murmured, trying not to smile. He could practically feel Pietro preening at the comment. “What would I do without you?”

“Die, probably.”

Lance laughed, the pressure eased enough in his head to let something small like that pass. He was still blinded by the wet cloth, but he knew Pietro was grinning too. ‘Tro was good in emergencies, despite hating having to deal with them. A surge of pain brought him down to earth, but it was less than the previous waves, so something was working. 

Thunder rumbled outside. 

“Go. Before the rain hits.” Lance told Pietro with all the conviction of a man facing down a firing squad. “I’ll be okay.”

“Drama queen.” Pietro huffed. He passed his warmed hand over Lance’s forehead and brushed his hair to the side. “Try to stay alive until I get back. Do it for me, champ.”

“Only for you.”

Above him, Pietro chuckled his warm, unguarded chuckle, which meant the door was shut and that was no chance Todd, Freddy, or Wanda was anywhere nearby. It also meant something better might happen, if Lance looked extra pathetic or if Pietro was feeling unusually generous. Lance held his breath, waiting for the subtle shift of cloth - and then Pietro was leaning over him and gently kissed his wet forehead. Lance breathed out one long breath, unable to keep the goofy smile off his face. He never knew if Pietro noticed or not. 

Despite the warning thunder, a few minutes passed of Pietro’s usual lazy rhythm. Lance’s smile waned into something neutral and tired. The pulses in his head were dissipating. The pressure had shrunk to discomfort, enough for him to ignore if he had to. Pietro’s hands stopped and threaded into his hair, carefully cradling his head.

Lance helped as much as he was able, keeping himself upright while Pietro slipped out from underneath him. The pillow that replaced Pietro’s legs was cooler, but not nearly as firm. Hardly a good substitute, Lance thought to himself, making sure his mouth was shut tight. Again, thunder sounded in the distance.

“Sit tight, Lance.” Pietro said, further above him now that he stood by the edge of the bed. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

“Be careful.” Lance said back. Pietro scoffed and he furrowed his brow as much as he could. “Seriously. Thunder means lightning.”

“Remind me again who’s the one out of commission.” 

“Let’s keep it at one, okay?”

“Fine.” Pietro scoffed. Lance felt the hair being brushed back from his face. “You’re kinda cute helpless and injured.”

“That’s distressing.”

“There he is.” Pietro’s smug smile permeated his tone. “Overbearing and sarcastic. Just how I like my avalanches.”

He was gone in a gust of wind. Somehow, he’d managed to shut the door gently - both his bedroom and the front door. The peace Pietro had given him wouldn’t last very long after he’d gone. Lance tried to rest anyway, focusing on the lost thrum of pulse under his hair, fingertips at his temples, and trying to decide whether or not exploiting his weakness to hold someone’s attention was really all that bad of a thing to do.


End file.
